Chapter 56

One day, almost a decade after Strombella Stoneborn took her place on my Council, I received a visitor. He was a young man with the strangest eyes, a shade of red-brown I had never encountered before. My Master of Keys brought him into my throne room. Much to the consternation of my advisors, I set aside a portion of every day to meet with any who would speak with me, and thus could the people speak to their monarch. I believe this is partly what made my rule so stable.

"Your Majesty, I present Gonril Atoff of Freeport." I looked at the lad, unable to shake the feeling that I knew him.

"Belromanazar of Thunderhead?" Gonril asked.

I smiled at the mode of address. "I have been known thus."

"I am the grandson of Malycent Tazo."

I knew immediately what terrible news he brought. I invited the lad into my home and made him tell me stories of his grandmother. Malycent had returned to Zuunkhorun now and again, though never as much as I would have liked. She lived a full life of high adventure and eventually retired and bore children. Those children had children, and now one had made his sad errand to me.

I sent word to Faustan in Castellandria, for he had always been fond of his sister, and he swiftly joined me thanks to the standing stones I had recently prepared in the capital. He arrived with his wives, a brassy darkling woman and a modest Svarl who carried the first of his children.

Gonril shared every tale he could recall of his beloved grandmother, who had a thousand stories of her time as a pirate, her time as a freeblade, her time as an adventurer. She had sucked the marrow from life and I felt honored to have known her.

We celebrated Malycent's life and mourned her death. For a time, I did not think overmuch of the war.

A few years later, the Stoneborn sisters wed a wealthy rug merchant from Uraraoi. Sadly, this meant their time in my bed was over, but I was pleased they'd found a good match.

Despite the aid the Khaltóg people had rendered, the war continued. The town the Heacharids built that had once been a camp had only grown, becoming the mustering place for their troops. Roads radiated from it like lines of a festering wound. They'd even had the audacity to name it Victory, the bastards.

Its proximity meant the Heacharids could apply relentless pressure to the Arkohnum Gate. Even with the dwarves maintaining our defenses, we could not endure it forever. We needed to break the siege. I was not even thinking of attacking Victory, but perhaps I should have. I only wanted them off Zuunese walls long enough to allow us to regroup. I was deep in thought trying to unravel this knot when a white ship arrived in Uraraoi.

We received a pigeon from the harbor, the tiny scroll secured to its leg relating the ship's presence. I knew the vessel's significance immediately and wasted no time riding to the port. When I arrived, I found the ship moored and watched closely by the local guards. The harbormaster fell to his knee when he saw me approach.

"Your Majesty..."

"Rise, my friend. I believe I know who has come to our shores."

As though summoned by my presence, the door to the forecastle opened, and an elegant elven lady stepped into the shimmering late afternoon sunlight. I was not surprised to know her. It was Elion Tarasynora, my elven mate, and incomparable avatar of ethereal beauty. She was tall and slender in the manner of her people, with waist-length platinum blonde hair and a blushing, lavender complexion. She was dressed in diaphanous white, revealing as much of her figure as hiding it, and jewels fairly dripped from her body.

"Bel!" she exclaimed. Even excited, she moved with the airy grace of her people. She walked past the half-elven crew, ignoring them as though they did not exist. She embraced me, pressing her lips to mine. "I have missed you, my leilatha."

"And I you, Tara. What are you doing here?"

"You have not come to see me in many years," she pouted. "Am I expected to live without love?"

"It has been longer than I intended," I admitted. "Have you not remarried?"

"I have considered it, but it is you I miss. An elf lord would not..." The lavender color rose in her cheeks. "...use me properly."

"I kept thinking that I would see you, but there was always something keeping me."

"Yes," she said, her eyes flashing. "My Bel, ruling a great kingdom, at war with an empire!"

"What do they say about this in Iarveiros?"

"It is quite the talk," she paused, smirking. "I ensure that your name is on many a tongue. It does me quite well for all to know that my leilatha is the great Belromanazar, Tyrant of Zuunkhorun."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You are a political animal."

"I am more than that," she said, kissing me again. "Would you make your mistress beg?"

"Of course not, my love. Come, let me take you to the palace. Your crew can remain here?"

She waved in their general direction, her violet eyes never leaving mine. "Oh, think nothing of them."

I called Quiyahui down. My familiar resented flying all the way back to Tagariaganuur with a passenger, though she did it. She had grown since the time with Belazei, but she still bore others with difficulty and required rest afterwards. She would spend the following week in the garden. That was fine. I had little else to do other than renew my acquaintance with my elf.

Tara entered my household for a time. It was different than my visits to her, for now she was in my place of power. I believe she liked that. Once again, she and Tanyth got along splendidly, and Lysethe never minded being treated as a servant. Sarakiel and Maireili never cared for Tara, and Zhahllaia was cordial but cold. Jerrika met her only once and was faintly amused at the elf's obvious fear. Elves had lost the capacity to become undead and found wights viscerally disturbing.

Still, the siege nagged at my mind. I fought some days and sent other wizards in my stead on others. I released the Deadwall among the attackers. In most things, I trusted my Master of Wolves to keep us safe. Yes, some of my distance was that I was besotted with my love who had returned to me after so many years.

One day early into her visit, Tara and I remained abed. I explored her orchid as she polished my staff. Neither of us felt any urgency to finish. We kept our pleasure at a low simmer, languidly enjoying one another. I had Tara open and my tongue deep inside her when an epiphany struck me like a thunderbolt. I sat up.

"Bel?" Tara took me out of her mouth. She was drooling heavily, a fetching sight on her fine elven face.

"Forgive me, my love. I had a thought." Nude, I left my quarters, finding Tanyth in her suite, sitting in her chair with a book of poetry in her lap.

She looked me over and broke into a musical laugh. "Your staff is still wet, my love. Did you leave that lovely elf all alone?"

"Yes, I was just..."

She set aside her book and rose, kissing me. "You taste of her flower!" she laughed.

"Tanyth, I need you to journey to Kharsoom."

She frowned. "Are the hospitality houses in need of workers?"

"No, there is another errand." Her eyes widened as I described what I needed and where she would have to go.

"You're certain?" she asked.

"I will draw you a map. I want you to leave in the morning and take Lysethe and Maireili with you."

"Bel, no. You need them here."

"I want them with you. I have four other wizards now. We can hold the Arkohnum. I need to know my wives are safe, and no one takes care of you like one another."

She sighed, kissing me again. "I love you."

"I will draw the map."

"You will return to Tara and finish her off. I'll not have my honor sullied thus. We cannot leave before tomorrow and your map will be done by then."

I returned to Tara, finding her idly teasing herself. "Bel," she said with a nervous smile, her fingers never ceasing their movement. "What troubles you?"

I explained the errand I would send three of my wives upon. She touched my cheek. "I will send them in my ship. My crew will keep them safe and no human ship can match the swiftness of an elven vessel. And while they are gone, it falls upon me to warm your bed."

"Sarakiel will still be here."

"But so will I," she said, kissing me. "Now, will you let me finish what I started?"

I settled down onto the bed with her, returning to our former position. "Of course, my love."

The Heacharids launched a brutal attack not a week after my wives left. I went to the wall, along with Deimara, Dioscoro, Amala, and Tartu. We needed all five of us to hurl it back, and it cost Amala her life. All of us bled from new arrow wounds where Heacharid missiles had made it through our magical defenses. On the third night, when the Heacharids finally pulled back to Victory, a ragged cheer went up the exhausted defenders.

"Go rest, my love," said Lysethe. Her plate armor had held, though the enamel was chipped in places and her tabard was stained and torn. She bled from a slice across one fine cheek. "I will watch the wall in case the Heacharid dogs launch an attack after their prayers."

"Thank you," I said, kissing her pale lips.

I limped off the walls, seeking only rest. Tara found me before I had made it more than a short distance. Her soft lavender scent enfolded me as she pressed cool lips to my forehead. My exhaustion warred with the desire to take her then and there. "You were magnificent, my leilatha," she said, a cruel light shining in her violet eyes. "I observed the battle from the western tower with those who do not fight."

"Today you saw the Dreadstorm," I said, and though my tone was rueful, a part of me wanted her to see me as the beast that put fear into the Heacharids.

"You are injured?"

"A battle-exorcist has closed my wounds," I assured her. "I am sore, but now time is my ally."

"Then you belong to me."

Tara ordered a bath brought to the room, and though she wrinkled her nose at the water available to humans, she set about washing me. She took my robes from me and stripped off her own clothing. My eyes went to the pouting orchid between her legs until it vanished beneath the milky water. Soon the water was dyed pink and gray as blood and soot washed from my flesh.

"I have been meaning to ask you something. You have had children, have you not?" she asked idly as she poured water over my shoulders.

"Many."

"Have any been born with your gift?"

"Wizards? Three. Two of my sons by Lysethe and one of my daughters by Maireili. I have a granddaughter I know of as well, but she wanders the world."

"The two young men I saw on the walls, they were yours?"

"One of them was my Dioscoro. The other is a Zuunese wizard I helped train."

"You know these three and you have not brought them to a symposium? Each would make a fine leilatha."

"There are four. My Deimara, unless you no longer want women."

I felt her falter behind me and she was silent for a moment. "She is a ghaunt. I do not mind their people, but many in Iarveiros find ghouls and their kin distasteful. She would not be welcomed as befits one of your bloodline. Your two sons and the Zuunese man...you should bring them."

"I shall give it some thought," I promised, turning about. "Now I want something else."

She smiled, turning away from me and gripping the edge of the tub. Her buttocks surfaced, the water sluicing from her slender form. She looked over her shoulder with a fetching grin. "Take what you wish, my leilatha. I am yours."

Some weeks later, I was spending the evening with Sarakiel and Zhahllaia. The siege had been quiet, and Sarakiel had journeyed to Ironmotte to stay in the castle. I preferred them in the capital, for there they had an easier path to both Uraraoi and the Alguur Pass should the worst happen. And there was the simple fact that I am not made of stone. I like having my wives with me.

The three of us were abed, simply reading and enjoying the closeness with one another. I stroked Sarakiel's bare thigh with one hand.

The door opened, revealing Tara. "Bel? May I join you?"

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Sarakiel said imperiously. "You've had him for weeks. He needs to spend time with his wives."

"I thought the two of you were concubines," she said innocently.

I leapt in, as I was no fool. I saw what she had said, even if she had not. "Tara, I think Sarakiel is right. Retire to your quarters and I will see you in the morning."

"As you wish, Master Wizard," Tara said, slipping out and shutting the door behind her.

"The cheek of her," Zhahllaia snapped as soon as Tara was out of the room.

"When is she returning to her forest?" Sarakiel demanded.

"When her ship returns. Kharsoom is far away, even for an elven vessel."

"She should not say such things."

I was wise enough not to point out that my elf had stated a fact. Fortunately, it was easy enough to concentrate on the hurt, for I never liked to see my brides injured. "Tara did not mean offense She is...she does not understand what you mean to me."

"Don't apologize for her," said the djinn. "She is an elf. To her, we are your toys. Tanyth, by virtue of her title, homeland, and the fact you wed her, is the only one with any status, and Tarasynora sees even her as a clever animal."

"I think that is unfair. I know I've spent more time with her over the past months, but I have not seen her in decades. I understand the jealousy..." And as the word left my mouth and the fire blazed in two pairs of beautiful eyes I recognized the error I had made.

"Jealousy? Have you ever known the two of us to be jealous?"

"Were this Lyta Sullac or the Stoneborn sisters or the Mythseekers, we would not have the slightest objection," said Sarakiel.

"I misspoke," I said. "Forgive me, my loves. As soon as her ship returns, she will be on it, bound for Chassudor."

Sarakiel touched my chest "I know you love her. She has merely been here for far longer than I anticipated."

"And we don't like her," said Zhahllaia.

"I will talk to her about showing the both of you the proper respect," I said. "If you can understand what she means to me, then she can do the same."

I would like to say that mended the relationship between the loves of my life, but that would be a lie. Tara agreed she would treat them as though they had titles and didn't understand why this was not nearly enough. Zhahllaia and Sarakiel would have sniffed out the condescension even if Tara had worked even slightly to hide it. We existed this way for several more months. It was so bad at times that being called to the walls of Ironmotte was a relief.

A bird from Lysethe informed me when their arrival was imminent. I gratefully took Tara out to meet the ship. Dioscoro journeyed with me, as I had agreed to let him attend the symposium. I wanted him away from the walls anyway. He was too young for this, younger even than I was when I first fought the Heacharids. I thought time with the elves would do him some good.

We reached the port on the day the ship arrived. My heart soared as I saw my family on the deck. Tanyth was in her splendor, her iridescent white gown hugging her perfect form. Maireili brooded in her dark cloak, never far from the Kharsoomian's shoulder. Lysethe's armor gleamed redly in the sun, her skymander leaping from her shoulder to join Quiyahui over the bay.

Next to them was another that I had not seen in many years. Her shape was that of a woman, pieces of her sculpted in porcelain, her joints machined clockwork in copper and gold. The wind ruffled the cascade of ribbons she had in place of hair. She was beautiful, combining the loveliness of an incredible machine with the perfection in form of a statue.

The ship docked and the four of them came down the gangway. I embraced each in turn. I paused at the last. "Kushan-Hegal," I said to the clockwork golem. "Thank you for coming."

"You are my friend," she said simply. "I am told you are Belromanazar? Not Ashuz?"

"For you, I am either. Hegal-Toth will be safe while you're on the other side of the world?"

"We remain secret. So secret I was surprised when I saw these three figures coming through the sun. One Kharsoomian, and these two, pale as porcelain."

Tanyth laughed. "Maireili finally embraced local custom."

My ghoul wife blushed blue. "It was hot."

"I wish I could have seen you," I said, wrapping an affectionate arm about her slender waist. "Clad in nothing but a weapon harness."

"It was fetching," Lysethe said.

Maireili's blush deepened. "I have no doubt about that," I said, kissing her smooth cheek.

"I admit I was concerned to see a red Kharsoomian," Kushan-Hegal said, "but she explained to me that she was the wife of Ashuz the Blackspear, now Belromanazar the wizard, who seized his powers from the gods."

"One goddess," I said. "Have you brought any more of your people?"

The clockwork woman did not make a sound, but I felt a hum in my bones. Emerging from belowdecks were four more daughters, including Ashuza-Hegal, the giantess whose creation I had witnessed. She emerged from the tight space with an uncanny twisting of her limbs that would have been impossible for a human. I wondered if she had been folded up inside the ship, patiently waiting for landfall.

The others included one with a human silhouette close to Kushan-Hegal's, this was Shura-Hegal. Another was a ball of limbs who moved in a swift roll. She was Taigan-Hegal. Last was Kelek-Hegal, a beetle-like golem.

"Welcome!" I called to them as they joined us on the wharf. "Ashuza-Hegal, you look well."

"You are still small," she said.

Zuunese fishermen and sailors gawked at the assembly on the docks. They knew well their Tyrant was a wizard with many strange allies, though these were strangest of all. It was a testament to the loyalty that I had fostered that none were concerned.

"You will accompany me to Ironmotte," I said, "where I will beg a favor."

Tara sidled up next to me as we made our way to the carriages waiting at the mouth of the harbor. "Bel, what are these creatures?"

"Friends from the Red Wastes," I said.

Tara returned to Ironmotte but she departed shortly afterwards with Dioscoro. Sarakiel was amused at the way the Hegalites disturbed the elven noble. She, unsurprisingly, found them fascinating, striking up a friendship with Kushan-Hegal that persists to this day.

"I want you to build something for me," I said. "A great machine."

"A machine?" Kushan-Hegal stood on the western tower, looking out over the burning lights of Victory.

"One of your daughters. The most terrifying you have imagined. I will put the kingdom's resources at your disposal."

"To defeat them," she said, leveling a porcelain fingertip at the infernal glow.

"Yes."

"I will do this for my friend."

I built a workshop for Kushan-Hegal on the northeastern edge of Ironmotte. This would eventually grow into Hegal University, which persists in some form even today. It began as little more than a collection of squat buildings, designed by the Hegalites and built by Khaltóg and Besh craftsmen and would only later grow to a sprawling village.

Kushan-Hegal wanted everything symmetrical, everything geometric, which is why the center of the university appears as it does. It was only after her departure that the spiraling gardens and soaring buildings for which it is famous started to grow about the initial cloister. Kushan-Hegal started the subterranean levels as well, which soon became home to dwarven and ghoulish students. It was this moment that the ghoul citizens of Zuunkhorun began to incorporate themselves into the fabric of the kingdom.

The buildings were the easy part. Kushan-Hegal needed devices and machinery that only she truly understood. My task was to provide her with the materials, both common and exotic, she required. She and her four daughters were busy with construction day and night.

It was two years before she was able to begin construction on the machine, but by then the earliest indications of what this place would become had started. Humans, dwarves, and ghouls all gathered to watch the clockwork Hegalites at their labors. They learned crafts and secrets of the artificial people. I wonder if the clockwork nature of the Sixth Strata is somewhat due to the community that coalesced about Hegal University.

I returned to the defense of the city with my Master of Wolves. The Zuunkhorunia in one of its few outright errors, incorrectly states this to be Taragai, the legendary Lion of the Gold, but this was his predecessor Durgha. A skilled warmaster without question, though he lacked Taragai's genius. Still, had we not done what we had, Taragai never would have had the chance to show his genius. Forgive me, I am an old man and will sometimes ramble. The Mad Tyrant of all things is most accurate here, I suspect because my actions speak more of my madness and that fits with the author's designs.

What is important for this chronicle was my first true visit to Kushan-Hegal's workshop. The central building comprised her workshop, with the outbuildings holding raw materials, the porcelain, copper, gold, dragonseed, frogflesh, heartquartz, and more. The five Hegalites worked day and night, bringing the raw material into the central hub where Kushan-Hegal built the machines she would need to fulfill my request.

Upon my first visit, only the beginnings of the workshop had begun. Beyond an entryway, the building opened into a vaulted room that reminded me of her workshop in the Red Wastes. A central machine had only begun to take shape in the center of the room, with pipes of bright copper radiating like a spider's web. A bank of tables, the beginning of a lab space, had been built across from the machine. A single chair sat in front of it.

"Belromanazar," Kushan-Hegal said. "Welcome."

"It looks like you've gotten underway."

"Not quite accurate. I would say that I am underway in the process of getting underway."

I nodded, amused at the golem's precision. "An important distinction."

She gestured to the chair. "This is for you. Would you sit?"

I did. She knelt before me without ceremony, and I thought I detected some eagerness in her mien. "There is one more resource I will need in plenty. Your aerilean energy. May I extract it from you in the way we once did?"

I smiled, stroking her ribbon hair affectionately. "If you would like to."

She paused, her thoughts clicking softly. "Since you departed, I find myself thinking of it often."

"You like giving me the knight's kiss."

"Is that wrong?"

"Quite the contrary."

"Good. I will need to perform the extraction as often as possible."

"I think I will be able to meet your schedule."

My robes unraveled, revealing myself. She took me in her mouth. She executed her technique flawlessly and swiftly finished me, taking every last strand. When she was finished, she stood, cocking her head. "There is a difference in your fluids."

"What kind of difference?"

"I will need to study them further to make any kind of determination. They are..." she trailed off. A human might have shaken her head, but she was still. "I cannot describe it."

I was not the only visitor to the workshop. I noticed that oftentimes when I arrived, Deimara would be leaving, or when I left, Deimara would arrive. I thought little of it. She possessed an inquisitive mind and would want to understand the work of the Hegalites. It was not until I began to see her on the walls or in the castle with Shura-Hegal that I understood more might be afoot.

My suspicions were confirmed when one day while I was wandering the Iron Garden, Deimara approached me. She looked so much like her mother then, with Maireili's sweetly uncertain expression on her round face. She smiled, showing off the blunter teeth that always marked ghaunts. Her deep bell whirled behind her, jingling softly as it shed its light. "Father? May we speak?"

"Always." I embraced her, noting the jitters that passed through her. "What is it?"

"I have chosen a wife."

I brightened. "Have you? Who is she?"

My daughter blushed a soft indigo. "Shura-Hegal."

"That is wonderful news. Do you wish a ceremony of any kind?"

"I want only my family."

"That can be arranged. Have you told them?"

She shook her head. "You are the first."

"Then it will be my honor. I'll have a meal prepared and inform your mothers their presence is required and you may make the announcement."

"You are not displeased? That I have chosen a golem?"

"Of course not, my light. The Hegalites are friends to the Storm's Court. This merely makes it somewhat official. I am only pleased that my daughter has found a mate worthy of her."

We celebrated that night. Deimara would take other wives and husbands in the following centuries, and Shura-Hegal was at her side the entire time. The golem was an astute choice and she has been companion, protector, and love for my daughter through the countless years.

I found myself wishing for Dioscoro what Deimara had found. Not necessarily a Hegalite, but a proper wife. One whose skill and power served to complement his. I have stated many times I would not be what I became without the remarkable women who share my life. I wish the same guidance for all my children, but I was already concerned that Dioscoro might need it more than most. He had returned from Iarveiros as leilatha to an elven noble, but that would not be enough.

"Was she the one who chose you that first night?" I asked upon his return.

"Of course not, Father," he scoffed. "I sampled as many as I could."

"You know Tara was my first."

His eyes were flat and green, like the sky before a tornado. "She told me. I imagine that was fine for you. I wanted the experience."

"My old master would have agreed. He called me a fool. I suppose I am."

His trip to Iarveiros had unlocked something within him, Dioscoro began to recruit a sizable harem of concubines from the populace of Zuunkhorun. I believe he didn't think of them much beyond their beauty, and I will admit the dozen women he brought into his home were exemplars of Jegu, Besh, Khaltóg, and ghoul loveliness. Every time I tried to speak to one of them, I found not much there. I hoped they would find some depth or else he would seek a true companion, as he learned eternity could be a joy with the proper company.

I continued to battle on the walls of Ironmotte. The Heacharids showed no cessation in the men they would feed to the storm. I could not imagine they could keep this up, but they did. They always had more willing to run to their deaths in the name of their goddess.

Every time I arrived at the workshop to have my energies gently harvested, the space had been subtly improved. The machine at the center of the room came together. The copper web along the floor advanced, and soon at regular points, human-sized tables began to appear. Soon the golden skeletons of golems took shape on these slabs.

"I asked for a single machine," I said to Kushan-Hegal one day after our harvesting. "An army of your people will be useful, but it is not what I need to break this siege."

"You will get what you ask. Have faith in me."

I could not refuse a friend such a simple request. I grew more concerned though, as the slabs multiplied, and each one held another human form. My mind had danced with images of monstrous golems, but this was not it. Still, I held strong to that faith Kushan-Hegal had asked. She was my friend. She had promised to do this thing for me.

The years crept on and still more golems joined the others. I did not see this great machine she promised. I was on the wall more days than not, and though I slew Heacharids in plenty, the tide never ebbed. Most of the defenders were the Deadwall. Diotenah's whispers, linking me to every stormwight, was a cacophony.

It was past sunset one night after the Heacharids pulled back out of the reach of our arrows when Kushan-Hegal found me. I was already exhausted, my power at its limits. The last scraps of my storm shed a few more drops over the bloody mire of the Golden Wastes. Quiyahui was high above, the moonlight shining off her iridescent feathers.

"It is time, my friend," said the golem.

"Time?"

"To finish our creation."

"Go, Father. We can watch here," Deimara assured me. Shura-Hegal stood behind her, fresh blood on her porcelain skin.

"I will return as soon as I can."

I followed Kushan-Hegal to her workshop. The room was full, barely any space between the slabs, every one crowned with a porcelain and gold woman in repose. The copper pipes ran to the base of each, all of them connected to the great machine at the center. The device was a great clockwork pillar, smooth porcelain covering it in plates, revealing more golden gears and copper piping.

"Here," she said, gesturing to the base of the machine. An alcove sized for me was there, lined in copper and etched in runes I did not recognize. "Remove your clothing."

I obeyed. She took my robes, folding them and placing them on her worktable. She returned to me. "You are prepared," she said.

I looked down at my turgid staff. "I suppose I am."

"Good." She knelt before me. "I will need all of your strength."

"If it gives me what I asked for, it will be worth it."

She opened her mouth and took me. She was so unlike a human woman, soft and cool, warming only as she worked. Over the years, she had grown to understand the most efficient ways to help me achieve my bliss and gain the aerilean energy she needed. Her soft lips wrapped about me, the glorious sucking drawing the pleasure from deep within me, the bobbing of her head caressing my length and stoking the ecstasy to a boil.

I moaned, the bliss sinking its claws deeper inside my loins, raking the sensation from my belly to my sex. The aerilean energy sparked, lighting lancing from my body to the copper about me, crawling over the unfamiliar runes. The machine hummed to life about me, the clockwork whirring, something inside it clicking. I watched, amazed, as the first threads of lightning danced down the copper web stretching through the room. The two women closest to me twitched on their slabs.

I still could not see Kushan-Hegal's true purpose yet. I was not ready.

She sucked, and the exhaustion of the day spilled out of me. I broke, shuddering as I flooded her with hot jets of my seed. The energy sparked again, blue-white skyfire slithering over the inner walls between my body and the copper. Lighting surrounded the two closest who still moved as though they were awakening, and they shuddered, miming my own bliss.

They sat up as one, turning to looking at me. Their eyes were like starry skies, their faces unreadable masks of porcelain. Kushan-Hegal stepped back and away. These two rose from their slabs and approached, their forms artificial but alluring, sculpted by a master of the craft. Their movements were at once human but uncanny. I did not feel fear, instead, need overpowered me. Though I had only just spent in Kushan-Hegal, already my staff, slick with my own juices, was once again hardening.

They reached me. One stroked my hair, leaning in and kissing me. She teased my tongue from my mouth and sucked, her own tongue caressing mine. I felt the hands of the other on me, stroking me. My body burned with the sodden flame of recent bliss, each touch a sweet agony as they coaxed me to full hardness. Lightning flared and cracked, brightening with each tease.

The one kissing me let go, kneeling beside her sister. They bobbed over me in turns, one sucking hard, then the other taking over for a stroke, back and forth. It was maddening. It was intoxicating. These artificial creatures, so perfect and strange, needing my seed and relentlessly pulling it from my body. As the lightning rose, it stretched through the pipes, touching the slabs of the next four closest to us. They began to twitch, imitating my own pleasure. Then, with a final suck, I spurted into the mouth of one. She released me but before the second jet, the other took me. They swallowed in turn like this, none of my power wasted.

They stood, stepping back, now replaced by four recently-awakened women. My limbs were made of lead, my staff was sore, my body feeling like a sack, empty and discarded. Lightning danced over my nude body, holding me upright against the walls of the machine, crackling ever brighter. As the four women approached me, dread curled its talons into my heart, but so too did lust take my staff in gentle hand and awaken it.

The four reached me and were everywhere. A mouth was always upon my staff, but it was not the same mouth. They ranged over me with their inquisitive touch, licking and caressing every part of me. Always one of them was at my sex, bobbing over me, sucking hard at the stubborn bliss lodged in my loins. I did not know how I still had seed within me, but I did. I filled their mouths and as they stepped away, eight more took their place.

I would have fallen if it were not for the lightning keeping me on my feet. The eight explored and teased and somehow another pulled another bliss from me. They were replaced with sixteen, then thirty-two. Then more. And more.

At some point in this maddening press of artificial love, my staff failed me. It was inevitable. It had been brutalized now, every touch as much pain as pleasure. A hard finger pushed its way inside me, massaging more bliss from my enervated body.

The storm about me was strong. The scent of lightning, of unshed rain was heavy. Thunder rattled the room, each successive roll stronger. I no longer felt distinct moments of bliss. I felt only the relentless tide of seed leaving my body in burning jets, these greedy golems taking as much as I could possibly give. Kushan-Hegal had warned me, but I could not have imagined this. If I died in this, it would be a fitting death for an old goat like me.

I did not die. I became the eye of the storm, my pleasure reaching out in waves of aerilean power. Lightning crackled through the room, tracing the pipes, awakening each and every one of these women. They drank of my milk and were rendered alive. Finally, I thought I could stand no more, that I would be killed with this gentle love.

Then I truly saw what Kushan-Hegal had wrought.

The machine hummed, whirred, and crackled. My feet no longer rested on the floor, the lightning that crawled over me and the machine lifting me scant inches. I waited for the next wave that would pleasure me but somewhere in the press of gold and porcelain, their numbers had ceased. My loins ached in thudding time with the rolls of thunder.

Before me, the golems were arrayed in the room in even ranks. Lighting danced over them, connecting them in a web of skyfire. One bolt slithered from form to form to form, chased by others. They were not complete without that. It was their veins, perhaps, some part of a golem that I did not have a word to describe.

The lightning drew them together into tight clusters. Though they were shaped like women, they did not move that way. They had an uncanny, insect grace to them that was at once amazing and faintly terrifying. Their clusters took shape as they climbed upon one another their bodies locking together with some invisible mechanism.

Those clusters joined one another. One by one, they united. What I had thought was a legion of golems was in fact a single one. She stood before us, a woman formed of countless other women, a colossus of porcelain and gold. She stood before us in her majesty and I saw that she was more than I had asked for.

"Who am I?" asked the creature from hundreds of different mouths.

"You are Belzuun-Hegal," said Kushan-Hegal.

"I am Belzuun-Hegal," said the legion of voices. "What am I?"

"You are a warrior. Your enemy is beyond those walls. You will crush them."

"I am a warrior. I will crush them."

The creature's shape changed, the hundreds of individual golems moving about in their connection and locking into place in a new form. Now she was a great clockwork serpent crackling with blue-white lightning. She surged from the workshop out into the streets of Ironmotte.

The machine abruptly went silent, the lightning that had once spanned the interior walls vanishing. I fell to the floor. Though I was nearly broken by the process of midwifing that sublime creature, I fought to stand.

"Belromanazar," Kushan-Hegal said, kneeling beside me. Though her tone was even, I heard the concern. "Are you well?"

"My robes. I must...I must see this," I gasped.

She fetched the elven garment and the threads opened, covering my exhausted body. I closed my eyes and focused, summoning a single lightning bolt. I gripped it, and as it vanished, I held the shaft of Ur-Anu, the Blackspear. Tonight the godslayer would not be a weapon. It would serve as an old man's walking stick. I braced it on the floor and rose to my feet, leaning heavily upon the shaft. Kushan-Hegal went to my other side, taking my arm.

We went out into the night.

Ahead of us, Belzuun-Hegal had shifted its configuration. No longer a serpent, it had once again taken the shape of a colossal woman. She stalked along the nighttime streets, her heavy tread thundering. Her body shone with lightning dancing between the hundreds of bodies that made up her form.

As she moved, screams and wails from the locals chased her. They must have thought her some kind of vengeance of the Heacharid goddess. She was the opposite. When she reached the walls, surging over them in a porcelain wave, the defenders even hurled a few spears and arrows. They swiftly stopped, the cry changing from one of fear to one of triumph.

Then the screams of the Heacharids floated over the Arkohnum Gate. I lost sight of her as I limped through the streets, every step a fresh agony. I had to see what I had wrought. As I reached the wall, Lysethe was the first to see me.

"My love?" she asked, running to me.

"Father! Is this the creation?" asked Deimara, who followed on Lysethe's heels.

"This is she," I said. "Help me to the walls. Lysethe, muster the army. Send it after her. If the Heacharids rally, they might be able to cut her down. Find Durgha and have him send an assault."

Concern flashed in my wife's red eyes, but she nodded resolutely, jogging in the direction of the barracks, her armor clanking.

Not long after, our gates opened and we emerged, following the path of destruction wrought by the massive Hegalite. Though I was exhausted and in no condition to fight I went anyway. I called stormwights, who raised me on a litter, and I fought from there.

We caught up with Belzuun-Hegal at the Heacharid forward camp. She stomped them, smashed them, picked them up and hurled them. They had broken already and fled for Victory, a place whose name grew increasingly ironic.

Zuunese cavalry, led by the Black Rose, crashed into the retreating Heacharids. I supported them as best I could, summoning reserves I did not know I had. Deimara, Lysethe, and Dioscoro were all more impressive in that battle.

We reached Victory and did not stop until it was flattened into the muddy earth. That was a bloody night, one of the bloodiest of the whole bloody war. As the sun rose, I stood in the burning remnants of Victory, smoke in my lungs and rain on my skin.

The Heacharids would return, but never again would they have a camp like Victory. We had broken something within them, the breaking of the tides, thanks to the clockwork nation.